


sacred new beginnings that became my religion

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Series: the blind date au [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Jumper stealing, M/M, baby's first row, blind date human au, but luckily ezra is patient, crowley is bad at relationships, learning to cohabitate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: Ezra will never forget the moment he unpacked the very last box from his old flat. It hadn’t been much, only a few stray books, a tangled knot of bowties, and some crumpled takeout menus but it had symbolized something of far more importance to him. It had been the final step toward intermingling his life with Anthony Crowley’s, hopefully for a very long time. Forever, if Ezra has his way.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: the blind date au [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536388
Comments: 71
Kudos: 341





	sacred new beginnings that became my religion

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth in the Blind Date human!AU series. Story title from Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift.

Ezra will never forget the moment he unpacked the very last box from his old flat. It hadn’t been much, only a few stray books, a tangled knot of bowties, and some crumpled takeout menus but it had symbolized something of far more importance to him. It had been the final step toward intermingling his life with Anthony Crowley’s, hopefully for a very long time. Forever, if Ezra has his way. 

As he’d eased the last of his books onto a shelf and stood back to admire the sight of his prized Austen and Shakespeare alongside Anthony’s varied collection of astronomy, architecture, and Freddie Mercury biographies, he’d felt an arm slip around his waist and tug. He’d smiled, leaning back into the narrow chest behind him and letting Anthony press a series of soft kisses along the back of his neck. “I believe that’s the last of it.”

Anthony had nuzzled into his hair and murmured, “That’s it then. You’re stuck with me.”

Beaming, Ezra had glanced around at the evidence of his brand new life — Anthony’s beautiful, vibrant plants coexisting beside his dusty knickknacks; the eclectic mix of his worn, comfortable antique furniture beside the sleek modernism of Anthony’s decor; his vintage gramophone settled alongside Anthony’s state of the art sound system. If one ventured into their — goodness, how it made his heart skip a beat… _their_ — bedroom, one would find a bedside table littered with books, reading glasses, and two mugs of tea gone cold while the other, much more organized bedside table, contained only a pair of sunglasses, an alarm clock, and paracetamol for hangovers. The large closet filled with leather and denim, tweed and velvet. Snakeskin boots and polished Oxfords. 

The evidence of two lives combined lovingly into one all around him, Ezra had never felt quite so warm or safe; so completely sure of himself and his place in the world. Finally, after years of searching, he belonged somewhere. He belonged with Anthony. So he’d leaned back into his love’s embrace and sighed happily, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As the weeks go on, it becomes evident that truer words he has never spoken. He _loves_ living with Anthony. While he has no one else to compare the experience to because he has never lived with anyone else before, Ezra feels quite confident in his belief that there could be no one better to share a life with. Anthony makes even the mundane a novelty again. With him at Ezra’s side, holding his hand and leaning in to tease him as they roam the aisles, even a trip to the grocers for supplies is a grand adventure. 

They spend their evenings cooking together when Anthony has the time before work. Ezra likes the intimacy of it, the two of them maneuvering around each other as they cut up vegetables, sauté chicken, and open the wine. They work well together. Anthony is always coming up with new and interesting recipes to try and Ezra delights in his creativity. Of the two of them, he also has the most patience when those recipes occasionally go awry, working diligently to get it right long after Anthony has given up in a fit of pique and draped himself over the counter with a glass of wine to watch. 

On these nights they get to share in the domestic joy of creating a meal and sharing it together, Anthony can always be counted on to drop the needle on the gramophone. Though he’ll never admit it, Ezra knows he secretly prefers the authentic crackle of their combined vinyl collection far more than that sleek sound system or whatever hip music app Anthony has on his mobile. Billie Holiday is his usual pick and whenever Ezra hears the dreamy croon of her voice fill the flat, he stops whatever he’s doing — stirring the sauce so it doesn’t burn, sprinkling the stew with spices, or glazing the salmon — and purses his lips against a wide smile. 

Behind him, he hears: “Have a go with me?”

“Anthony,” he protests, knowing all the while the answer will always be _yes_. “You know I’m not much of a dancer.”

Smirk audible, Anthony only says, “That wasn’t a no.”

Ezra sighs, glancing over his shoulder. His mouth trembles with the effort it takes to keep from smiling outright, like he’s so unspeakably happy he could shake apart with it. At his hesitance, Anthony lifts an eyebrow, hand outstretched. He’s so beautiful, so confident and dashing and everything Ezra is not. How could he ever help being drawn to Anthony — the suave charm and uncertain sweetness he exudes every time he looks at Ezra? He takes the hand offered to him and allows himself to be pulled into Anthony’s embrace. 

It’s strange how easily he fits in the circle of Anthony’s wiry, strong arms; how their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces. In his youth, Ezra had imagined a feeling like this — of happiness and safety, of belonging. As he’d grown older and relationships had come and gone, all of them failures, he’d let that quiet longing go. With each broken heart and every dashed hope, it had gotten easier and easier to let it slip away and believe that desire to be nothing but youthful fancy. He’d all but forgotten he’d ever wanted it in the first place when Anthony came along, strolling up to a little table in a cafe with that swagger and crooked grin. 

In a dizzying rush, Ezra had remembered: once upon a time, he’d wanted to be meant for someone. He’d wanted romance and fate. He’d wanted to belong with someone who belonged with him. If only he’d known in all those years that he’d simply been waiting — for Anthony’s fire bright hair and wicked smirk; his slender, sure hands touching Ezra with reverence even when pinning him down; the sweet things he murmurs with such uncertainty, as though he still isn’t sure he’s doing it right; the way he slings an arm around Ezra’s waist in public or the protective way he growls under his breath whenever Ezra mentions Gabriel. All this time, he’d been waiting for Anthony Crowley. It makes the years and heartache such a small price to pay. 

As they sway together there in the kitchen, Ezra lets his head drop to rest on Anthony’s shoulder, letting him lead them around their makeshift dance floor with ease. He’d learned to stop looking at his feet or fretting over the rhythm of the music, only closing his eyes and trusting Anthony to lead the way. Anthony has never once let him stumble. 

Anthony hums in his ear as they move, his voice a low murmur as he sings along with Ms. Holiday. _Like the wind that shakes the bough, he moves me with a smile_. His lips brush Ezra’s ear and he shudders, fingers curling into the soft, worn material of Anthony’s black t-shirt. “Dinner’ll burn.”

Eyes still closed, Ezra lets his lashes brush Anthony's throat and there is nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right here as he whispers, “Let it.”

-

Rainy Sundays are Ezra’s favorite. The sky is dark gray and overcast, looming over London like a shadow. The air is chilly enough to require a jumper, fuzzy socks, and a partner to snuggle under a blanket with. Rain patters relentlessly against the windows and the streets outside are nearly deserted; most sensible people choosing to remain cozy indoors. Anthony had called him morbid for preferring days like this over sunny ones but secretly, Ezra thinks he might be starting to change his mind.

Huddled under a tartan blanket with a cup of tea at his elbow and a worn copy of _Ethan Frome_ open on his lap, Ezra glances contentedly over at his partner. Anthony lays sprawled across the sofa, feet dangling over the arm at the other end and his head resting on Ezra’s thigh. He shifts every now and then, stretching like a cat, and his t-shirt has ridden up to expose his belly and ribs. Occasionally, he makes a noise that seems to mean he isn’t getting enough attention and rubs his cheek over Ezra’s knee — at which point Ezra hides a smile and balances his book in one hand to card his fingers through Anthony’s hair. 

The television drones on in the background as Anthony watches an episode of _Would I Lie To You?_ and barks out the occasional laugh every time Lee Mack makes a quick-witted retort to David Mitchell. Ezra tries to tune out the noise but even he gets distracted from his book occasionally, unsuccessfully stifling laughter the more ridiculous the stories become. His attention remains divided unevenly between his novel, Anthony’s soft hair under his fingers, and the show on television. It’s a Sunday, he reasons. He’s allowed to indulge in a bit of everything. 

Anthony turns it down once the program switches over to the news but Ezra does not regain any peace and quiet in which to read his book. His partner has clearly grown tired of only having a portion of Ezra’s attention because he sits up from his lazy sprawl only to curl himself flush to Ezra’s side like some sort of snake. He buries his face in the crook of Ezra’s neck, noses at his hair, kisses a line down his cheek and over his ear, and generally does his best to be an utterly charming nuisance until Ezra sighs and closes his book. 

Carefully removing his reading glasses and setting them aside, he turns to give Anthony his full attention. Brows raised, he asks politely, “Can I help you, my dear?”

“Could do,” Anthony mutters, ducking his head to trail more kisses down Ezra’s neck. “Miss you.”

Ezra huffs out a laugh. “I’m right here.”

“Ngk,” comes the unintelligible noise of disagreement. 

“Spoiled creature,” Ezra murmurs, and turns his head to kiss him properly. 

Anthony groans into his mouth, lips parting to allow Ezra a taste. He sighs through his nose and wraps his arms around Ezra’s neck, clambering up onto his knees to hover over him. It changes the angle of their kiss and Ezra has to lean back into the sofa cushions and tilt his head back, tugging Anthony onto his lap. Distantly, he hears _Ethan Frome_ drop to the floor with a dull _thunk_. He barely spares it a thought, too distracted by Anthony’s hot mouth plundering his own. 

They’re in no hurry to escalate things, not with an entire day to themselves. Gradually, their frantic kisses slow and they part to grin breathlessly at each other, faces flushed. Anthony stays perched on his lap, fingertips tracing patterns over Ezra’s chest. “D’you ever feel like this is too easy?”

Ezra blinks at him, still a little kiss-drunk. “Mm?”

“Us,” Anthony says, waving a hand carelessly. “Living together. I mean, shouldn’t it be harder — learning to cohabitate? S’what everyone at work keeps saying, anyway.”

Pressing their foreheads together, Ezra prompts, “Oh?”

Anthony shrugs. “Hastur told me it would change our whole relationship because we’d stop having sex and start arguing over whose turn it is to do the washing up.”

“Seems a silly thing to argue about,” Ezra points out, frowning. 

“S’what I said.”

“Clearly it’s your turn.”

“Oi!” Anthony laughs, ducking his head to bite playfully at Ezra’s shoulder until he squirms away, giggling. “Cheeky.”

Still grinning, Ezra reaches out to brush the hair from Anthony’s eyes and admits, “We _are_ adjusting rather well. Should we be concerned?”

“Nah.” Anthony waggles his brows smugly. “We’re just really good at this.”

“Yes,” Ezra murmurs, leaning up to kiss him once more. “I think we are.”

-

“Is that my jumper?”

Perched on the open window ledge and leaning his head out to smoke, Anthony turns at the sound of his voice. He’s been at the club overseeing things since last night and Ezra had fallen asleep alone in their bed, waiting for him. Now, in the early hours of the morning as Ezra emerges from his shower dressed for work, it seems Anthony has finally come home. Ezra wants to ask what took so long, or why he didn’t at least send a text at some point but the sight before him is a rather distracting one. 

Anthony’s clothes from last night are piled on the floor. His cigarette dangles carelessly between his slender fingers and his long legs are bare and folded up beneath him. Free of product, his hair droops artlessly over his forehead in crimson waves. The only thing he appears to be wearing is a cream, knitted jumper that happens to be one of Ezra’s favorites. It’s impossible not to stare. 

“Yeah,” he says warily, clearly misinterpreting Ezra’s wide-eyed gaze. “You mind?”

Ezra blinks, swallowing thickly. “No.” Helplessly, he continues to stare. “Not at all.”

Anthony catches on now, a slow smirk curling his mouth as he turns to put out his cigarette and stash it in a potted plant on the ledge. “You sure?” He slips from his perch with a sinuous grace that has Ezra’s stomach doing somersaults, tugging teasingly at the hem of the jumper covering the tops of his thighs. “Cause I can take it off.”

Any lingering irritation over Anthony’s late night or hurt over being left to sleep alone disappears, evaporating in the air between them like smoke. It’s nearly impossible to stay angry with Anthony under normal circumstances but when he’s looking at Ezra like that, smug and predatory, while he prowls toward him… Well. Ezra feels his knees go weak. 

He forces his wobbly legs to keep him upright, squaring his shoulders and steeling himself to look into Anthony’s golden brown eyes. “Not just yet, dearest,” he says, lifting his chin and looking through his lashes at Anthony looming over him. “I’d quite like to have you with it on first, if you’re amenable.”

With a short, sharp laugh, Anthony ducks his head and kisses him. He tastes like cigarette smoke and whiskey but Ezra melts anyway, fisting his hands in the material of his stolen jumper. “I’m amenable,” Anthony murmurs, between one dizzying brush of his lips and the next. “Very.”

They stumble haphazardly toward the bed that Ezra hadn’t bothered to make up yet, neither of them willing to part long enough to look where they’re going. Ezra bruises his hip against the sharp edge of the dresser and Anthony stumbles over the pile of clothes he’d left on the floor, both of them laughing breathlessly as they finally fall onto the sheets together. 

Anthony climbs over him, darting a series of enthusiastic, wet kisses along Ezra’s throat. “Mm,” he groans, enticing hips wiggling. “You used my soap again. You know what it does to me when you walk around smelling like me, angel.”

“I do know,” Ezra confesses, smiling softly as Anthony pins his hands over his head. He gazes up at him, studying the face he has grown to know and love so well. Anthony is beautiful in a strange, otherworldly sort of way — his bright eyes and brighter hair; the sharpness of his cheekbones; that thin, wicked mouth. The vulnerability he thinks he hides so well with his sharp grins and his wit. Ezra wants to cup his hands around Anthony like one might a firefly, to shield and protect him from the world, but something tells him that like the firefly, to protect would be to harm. 

“And you call me wicked,” Anthony mutters, fingers intwining with Ezra’s against the sheets. 

Eyes fluttering shut, Ezra relishes the hot slide of Anthony’s tongue against the shell of his ear and confesses hoarsely, “I wanted to feel close to you. I missed you last night.” The fact that it makes Anthony delightfully possessive had been merely an added bonus. 

Anthony pauses and when his soft mouth disappears from Ezra’s skin, he opens his eyes to investigate. Peering down at him, his eyes wide and contrite, Anthony’s mouth twists into a frown. “M’sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to come home so late.” He sighs, slender hand sweeping tenderly over Ezra’s cheek. “There was some sort of error in the accounting software. Refused to calculate the hours I know damn well Scarlett and the rest worked. Took me all night to fix it.”

Now that Ezra looks for it, it’s easy to see how tired Anthony is. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his usually styled hair is limp, probably from running stressed fingers through it. Ezra stifles the sudden urge to scoop him up, tuck him into bed, and force him to sleep. “I understand that sometimes things come up, darling,” he says instead, shifting his hand from Anthony’s grasp to reach up and cup his stubbled cheek. “I only wish you had let me know.”

Anthony grimaces. “By the time I knew it was going to be later than usual, I figured you were already asleep. Didn’t want to wake you.” He turns his head, mouth hot and open against Ezra’s palm. “Missed you. Christ, I spent all night wanting you.”

The last of his indignation melts away, undone by Anthony’s clear exhaustion and the longing evident in his voice. “I forgive you,” he whispers. 

The words, softly given and truly meant, seem to be what Anthony needs. He sags gratefully against Ezra, draping himself languidly over his chest, and lifts his head to seek out Ezra’s mouth. His kiss is soft and slow, thorough enough to make Ezra’s toes curl. He pets bright red hair, easing his mouth reluctantly from Anthony’s with a regretful sigh. “I must insist that you get some sleep, my darling.”

Anthony groans, burying his face in Ezra’s neck. “Thought you were going to ravish me.”

“Sleep,” Ezra insists, despite his own wishes. He strokes his hand down Anthony’s back, curling a fist meaningfully into the hem of his borrowed jumper, where it stops at the bottom of Anthony’s bare arse. “When you wake up, I promise to ravish you as originally intended. How’s that?”

With a noise half complaint and half agreement, Anthony curls around him and bullies Ezra into wrapping his arms around him. “Going to be late for work,” Anthony reminds him, voice slurred with sleep already. “Should go.”

Ezra clucks his tongue, settling further into the pillows and gripping Anthony tighter to him. Beneath his palm, he feels Anthony shudder with contentment. “Unfortunately, my partner has caught a dreadful cold. I’m afraid I’ll need to stay home today and look after him.”

Face still buried in the curve of Ezra’s neck, Anthony smiles. 

-

Despite Anthony’s assurances, Ezra tends to go to bed alone every night. Most nights he wakes to the feel of Anthony climbing into bed behind him, still smelling faintly of alcohol and sweat. Every time he slips quietly beneath the blankets, clearly trying not to wake Ezra, it’s impossible to ignore the knot of insecurity that blooms in the pit of his stomach. He has felt it on and off throughout his relationship with Anthony but it had been at its worst the first night he visited the Serpent and met so many of Anthony’s old flings. The feeling of inadequacy has begun to fade since then, growing less strong with every slow dance in the kitchen and the way Anthony reaches for him in public. 

Feeling it rear its ugly head now makes him feel childish and quite a bit ridiculous. He knows Anthony has poured his heart and soul into that club. He knows that caring for a business that operates mainly during the night hours is hardly a typical 9 to 5 job and Anthony cannot help being away. But he also knows that Anthony isn’t spending all of his time sequestered in his office on the third floor. He mingles with his customers, he goes down to the bar for drinks, he makes connections. It’s all part of the job. Ezra could never fault him for any of it. 

But there’s something about the man he loves coming home smelling of booze and other people that makes Ezra feel like a jilted lover. And he hates it. 

The insecurity dissipates in the light of dawn, frightened away by Anthony’s arm wrapped tight around him and his head nestled in the crook of Ezra’s shoulder. Shifting to study him closely, Ezra strokes crimson hair from Anthony’s brow. He looks so much softer when he sleeps, none of that sharpness in his features or that shroud of dry cynicism he seems to carry with him everywhere he goes. Every time Ezra looks upon him in sleep, the privilege of seeing such precious vulnerability overwhelms him. 

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the tattoo by Anthony’s ear. “Good morning, my dear.”

Anthony stirs briefly, curling closer and nuzzling his head into the pillow. “Mmm.”

Ezra smiles fondly. His love is not easily roused, especially after late nights working. “Sleep,” he whispers, though he misses Anthony so thoroughly he aches with it. “I’ll see you tonight. Remember, we’re having drinks with Anathema.”

With another grunt of acknowledgement, Anthony rolls over and tugs the sheet over his head. 

Sighing, Ezra watches the lump beneath the blankets for another moment before he forces himself out of bed and into the bathroom. _Some_ people do work regular hours, after all. 

His workday is long and exhausting, one of those days filled with unnecessary meetings and talking to Gabriel rather than doing what he loves - what he’s good at. On the days when Ezra doesn’t get to spend much time actually working, he comes home stressed and frazzled and very much looking forward to Anthony’s arms around him. Most evenings, however, he walks into an empty flat.

This evening is no different. 

His steps echo as he lets himself into the flat and he knows Anthony hasn’t made it home from the Serpent yet. In fact, he’d probably only left an hour or two ago at most. Ezra checks the kitchen anyway. Sometimes Anthony will leave him a little note or some pastries or even dinner to warm up if he doesn’t plan to be home in time. Sure enough, there’s a note pinned to the fridge in Anthony’s careless scrawl. 

_Angel,_

_Check the second shelf._

_\- C_

The note in itself might not be considered all that romantic but to Ezra, it means so much. Anthony, always so busy and who has such difficulty expressing himself sometimes, even bothering to leave him something at all — something to show he’d been thinking of Ezra — is rather sweet. And when Ezra opens the fridge and checks the second shelf, he finds a little pastry box from his favorite Greek bakery. Inside is a perfect, mouthwatering slice of baklava. 

“Darling creature,” Ezra murmurs, sighing a little. 

It’s ridiculous to miss someone he had just spoken to that morning but he does. Lately it seems rare for the two of them to have more than a few stolen moments together between their work schedules and other commitments. Ezra misses the sound of his voice and the tenderness of his touch; the enticing swing of his hips and the way he laughs at Ezra’s jokes, head thrown back and teeth gleaming. 

Feeling silly and maudlin, Ezra carries the box with him to the counter and tucks the note into his coat pocket. Later, he’ll add it with the others in his bedside drawer. For now, he eats the baklava and freshens up a bit before heading out to meet Anathema for drinks. He’ll be a little early but the silence of the flat is nearly deafening and something about being there without Anthony is dreadfully lonely. 

As he locks up and walks down the long corridor to the elevator, he can’t help but wonder at the peculiarity of it — to have moved in with the man he loves and yet somehow feel more alone than he ever had living by himself. 

-

Anathema is precisely on time, walking into the pub at six-thirty on the dot. She beams when she sees Ezra, weaving through the evening crowd until she’s close enough to open up her slender arms and wrap him in a tight embrace. She’s as beautiful as ever, dressed all in black tonight and wearing those pointy-toed boots that remind Ezra of a witch. Her long dark hair is gathered into an impeccably neat plait that drapes over her shoulder and when she leans in, Ezra can smell patchouli and incense. He’s missed her terribly. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, wrinkling her nose in amusement when Ezra pecks her fondly on the cheek. Despite her years living in London, her deeply American sensibilities remain. “How are you? Still slaving away for that bigoted asshole?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Ezra sighs, pulling back to look at her properly. “At least until I can buy books for free.”

Anathema rolls her eyes fondly. “Well if you ever decide your morals are more important than your paycheck, come work for me.”

Quite sure that working for Anathema’s nonprofit would never suit him, Ezra only nods and pats her cheek. He’d met Anathema a few years ago, when she would protest outside the British Museum, lobbying for their collections to be returned to their rightful countries of origin. Ezra, who likes to eat his lunch outside on warmer days to escape his coworkers, would often sit with her and share his sandwich. They’d bonded somehow, through those stolen afternoons, and Anathema had decided she liked him despite his place of work. They’ve remained close ever since. 

Smoothing a crease in his suit she’d caused with her enthusiastic greeting, Anathema glances behind him with a frown. “Where’s Crowley? He told me he was coming.”

“Oh, he is.” Ezra smiles and hopes Anthony doesn’t make a liar out of him. “He should be along in a moment. You know how he likes to be fashionably late.” Taking her arm gently, he tugs her in the direction of the bar. “Come, let’s order a bottle for the table. Something terribly posh, hmm?”

Anathema lifts an eyebrow, allowing herself to be led along. “Oh, are we celebrating?”

With a hum, Ezra casts a sly glance. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Me?” Anathema laughs. “What for?”

“For introducing Anthony and me, of course.” He winks at her, pleased when she laughs again. “We never did thank you properly. Drinks are on us tonight, my dear girl.”

They reach the bar and Anathema nudges him fondly as Ezra vies for the attention of the bartender with a polite little wave. “I knew you’d be perfect together if I could get you to stop being stubborn long enough to meet. Opposites attract, you know.” 

Ezra smiles as the bartender approaches. “So it seems.”

It’s only after they’ve ordered a bottle and obtained some glasses and a place to sit that Anathema brings up Anthony again. They’re sitting by a window in the corner, private enough in the crowded pub that they might be given a bit of space for conversation but in view enough that Anthony won’t have trouble finding them if he walks in.

_When_ , Ezra chides himself. _When_ he walks in. 

“So.” Anathema takes a slow, measured sip of her wine and waggles her eyebrows at Ezra from across the table. “How are things going? Is living together everything you thought it would be?” She grins suddenly, sly and mischievous. “Any annoying habits of Crowley’s you’ve discovered?”

“Actually,” Ezra confides, ducking his head to smile into his wine glass. “When we’re both home at the same time things are rather perfect. Well, Anthony says my tendency to forget where I’ve left my tea and then make myself another only to find the first, get distracted, and let both of them grow cold drives him to distraction but-”

“Hang on.” Anathema holds up a hand, frowning. “What do you mean when you’re both home at the same time?”

“Oh.” Ezra shrugs, refusing to meet her gaze. He strokes a fingertip down the stem of his wineglass and explains, “Anthony keeps unusual hours in his line of work. Of course that was easier to deal with when I didn’t come home to an empty flat every night. I had hoped living together would mean having someone to come home to at the end of the day but most nights I’m usually asleep before he gets back.” He forces a smile, sensing Anathema’s sharp gaze on him. “It takes some getting used to, I suppose.”

Voice soft, she asks, “Have you talked to him about it?”

He scoffs. “What would I say? Give up everything you’ve worked so hard for so that I have someone to watch Doctor Who with when I get home from work?”

Anathema laughs, crinkling her nose. “OK, maybe not exactly like that. But if he knew how you felt, maybe he could-”

Ezra shakes his head and she trails off, frowning. “I know how much his work means to him, my dear. I won’t be the sort of partner who gives his significant other an ultimatum. Or makes him feel guilty for having a life and responsibilities outside of our relationship.” He smiles weakly. “It strikes me as rather too clingy for my taste. No, I’ll adjust.”

“But-”

On the table between them, his mobile buzzes. With an apologetic glance, Ezra picks it up and checks the message lighting up his screen. It’s from Anthony, who is already late, explaining that he will indeed be even later than intended. Ezra sighs, letting Anathema peer across the table at his mobile to read it herself. 

_Sorry angel, running late. Be there as soon as I can xx_

At her sympathetic, pitying look, Ezra forces a strained smile. “So, how about another glass?”

They spend an hour catching up and sharing a dusty bottle of Chardonnay the bartender had liberated from the back room. Anathema tells him about the new young man she’s been seeing and about her plans to protest outside of parliament next weekend. Ezra tells her about the new collection he’s overseeing at the museum and a bit of office gossip surrounding Gabriel and his ongoing feud with Bea Prince, the director of the Tate Modern. 

With such pleasant company, engaging conversation, and the warmth of the wine in his belly, Ezra feels better than he has in quite some time. When Anthony finally arrives, Ezra and Anathema are nearly ready to part company for the night but he doesn’t even mind. That ache of loneliness has faded somewhat in Anathema’s company, enough for him to push it aside and smile at the sight of Anthony sliding into the booth beside him.

He sidles across the bench to sit as close as possible, arm snaking around Ezra’s waist to squeeze his hip. He leans in and brushes a contrite kiss against his cheek and then another against the shell of his ear as he murmurs, “M’sorry, angel.”

“Quite alright, darling.” He captures Anthony’s hand, squeezing lightly. “You’re here now.”

Anathema pushes a fresh glass toward him, lips quirking into a smile. “Good to see you,” she says. “I was starting to forget what you looked like.”

With a smirk, Anthony thrusts out his chin and tilts his head to the side, as though to give her a proper view. “And?”

She squints at him. “Still way too pointy and smug,” she decides. “Why did I introduce poor Ezra to you again?”

“No idea.” Anthony reaches for his glass but his eyes, bright and soft, never leave Ezra. “For some reason he hasn’t gone anywhere, even though I’m a piss poor boyfriend who’s never on time for anything.”

Ezra shakes his head, smiling. “You have other charms, dearest.”

“Any outside the bedroom?” Anathema asks, arching an innocent brow.

Despite his blush, Ezra pretends to ponder the question — just long enough to make Anthony stutter out an incomprehensible, wordless complaint. Ezra laughs softly, leaning in to brush a tender kiss over his stubbled jaw. Under his breath, he confides, “I love you awfully, you know.”

It’s Anthony’s turn to blush now and he nods jerkily, hand squeezing Ezra’s beneath the table as he murmurs, “I know.”

Half an hour later, the three of them part ways outside on the pavement. Anathema climbs into her Uber after obtaining a promise of dinner sometime soon and Ezra walks back to the flat with Anthony, the two of them holding hands as they stroll. The chill in the cool night air works its way beneath Ezra’s clothes, seeping into his skin and settling into his bones — sapping away the pleasant buzz he’d acquired in the last couple of hours. 

Beside him, Anthony is quiet. His long, dark coat whips around his knees as the wind picks up and his bright hair tumbles over his forehead and into his eyes. His hand remains snug in Ezra’s grasp, warm and sure and steady as he leads Ezra confidently home. Ezra bites his lip, leaning into toward the heat he always radiates. 

“What kept you?”

Anthony sighs, his breath misting in the night air. “I’m training a new hire,” he explains, and the exhaustion in his voice makes Ezra want to bundle him up and carry him the rest of the way home. “Took longer than I thought.”

Ezra looks away, watching a couple across the street stop at the crosswalk to embrace. “Couldn’t someone else have done it?”

“Not this one.” Anthony shakes his head, squeezing Ezra’s hand apologetically. “Which is why I need to train someone else to do it. I ever get run over by a bus, they’re all fucked.”

Ezra frowns, tugging him a bit further from the curb. “Let’s stay away from public transportation then, shall we?”

With a soft laugh, Anthony ducks his head and presses a fond kiss against his temple. “I really am sorry about tonight, angel. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?” Ezra glances up through his lashes, smiling. 

Grinning now, Anthony drawls, “That too, of course. But I was thinking I might come home early tomorrow. We could make dinner. Or order takeaway and spend the whole evening shagging.” He sniffs with a shrug, glancing away like maybe Ezra might not be interested. “If you want.”

Ezra slows to a stop right there in the middle of the pavement, turning to stare at him. His heart feels lodged in his throat. “Really?”

Turning slowly to meet Ezra’s wide-eyed gaze, Anthony nods. “Course. I know I’ve been working a lot lately and…” He darts a glance away like he’s about to admit something embarrassing. “I miss you.”

With a choked laugh, Ezra blinks back a sudden rush of tears and steps into Anthony’s arms. It takes him a moment to raise his arms from his sides, apparently startled, but between one breath and the next Anthony’s arms are wrapped tight around him. Ezra buries his face in his neck, smelling his cologne and the night air clinging to his coat. “I miss you too. So much. I-” He bites back a tearful confession, gathering himself somewhat. “Yes. Dinner would be lovely, darling.”

Anthony strokes his hair and Ezra feels another soft kiss pressed to his temple as he says, “Then it’s a date.”

-

The following day, Ezra floats through his working hours. He doesn’t see the aging, brittle correspondence under his gloved hands. He doesn’t notice Michael’s curious glances when he spends his lunch hour holding a sandwich and smiling at nothing. He barely even notices when Gabriel drops by to check on his progress and claps his shoulder in that manner of false camaraderie he usually detests. Nothing at all could persuade his mind to stray from the end of this long day — Anthony greeting him at home with one of those crooked grins and a thorough kiss; cooking dinner together and dancing to Billie Holiday; perhaps watching a bit of one of Anthony’s reality show addictions until his love kisses him to distract him from complaining; falling into bed together at last…

Five o’clock simply cannot arrive quickly enough. 

Which is why when the day finally comes to an end and Ezra strides out of the museum with a spring in his step, the buzz of a text alert on his mobile has his heart sinking into his stomach without even glancing at it. He braces himself as he pulls the phone from his coat pocket, biting back a disappointed sigh when he sees the message is from Anthony.

_Running a bit late. Home by 7. Promise xx_

Deflated, Ezra stares at his phone screen for a long moment before he can bring himself to respond. _See you at 7, darling_. As tempting as it is to consider the evening ruined and trudge home to mope about it in peace, Ezra cannot bring himself to relinquish the wonderful mood that has carried him through his day. Anthony does not lie to him. If he says he will be home by 7, then Ezra has no reason not to believe him. 

He smiles faintly at the heart emoji Anthony had sent in reply and tucks the phone back into his pocket. Unfortunately, Anthony’s tardiness has rather thrown a wrench into their plans. There simply won’t be time to cook dinner together and still spend the evening as he’d hoped. And while Ezra has been looking forward to a lovely home cooked meal all day, he also hasn’t forgotten Anthony’s sly suggestion of ordering takeaway and shagging all evening. Missing him as terribly as he does, the thought is… well. 

Perhaps a compromise is in order. 

He’ll make dinner ahead of schedule so everything will be ready to eat when Anthony arrives. That way, they’ll still have a good portion of the night to canoodle as they wish. Good cheer restored, Ezra makes a quick stop at the grocers on his way home, gathering all the supplies he’ll need to make one of Anthony’s favorite dishes. Laden down with bags, he walks back to their flat still smiling. 

The food preparations go much more smoothly without Anthony around to distract him with an impromptu dance but Ezra misses it so much that he puts on Billie Holiday as he sets the table. He hums along with her sultry crooning as the delicious smells from the kitchen begin to fill the flat; as seven approaches and he strikes a match to light the candles; as he settles in to wait where he’ll have a proper view of Anthony’s surprised face when he walks in. 

At seven-thirty, a text pings his phone. 

_So sorry, angel. Be home soon, I swear._

Stomach dropping, Ezra stares at his mobile for a long moment. He pulls up Anthony’s number and bites his lip, hesitating only a moment before he hits the call button. It rings long enough that he expects it to send him to voicemail when Anthony doesn’t pick up, but at the last moment there’s a click and then the heavy bass of whatever live band is playing at the club tonight assaults his ears. Ezra winces, pulling the phone away from his ear. 

“Anthony?”

“Sorry, love. He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.” At the sound of Sable’s slick, amused voice on the other end of the line — answering Anthony’s personal mobile — Ezra purses his lips tightly together. “Want me to pass on a message?”

“No,” he says coldly, and because being polite is a sickness he’ll never be rid of, he adds, “Thank you.”

He hangs up before Sable does, cutting off the pounding music and the sound of people shouting out drink orders. The quiet of the flat in contrast is startling, only the ticking of the antique grandfather clock he’d brought along when he’d moved in. Very carefully, he places his mobile on the table. Clasping his hands together on his lap, Ezra swallows around the lump in his throat.

And he waits. 

It takes another two hours before Anthony walks through the door. He looks worn out, his hair rumpled and the corners of his mouth tugged into an absent frown. In the crook of his arm, he carries a bouquet of tulips. He stops short in the middle of the room, staring at Ezra seated silently at the table. The mouth-watering smell of dinner still hangs in the air and the melted candles still flicker. His widening eyes take in all the dinnerware laid out carefully, the champagne chilling in a bucket that had once been filled with ice but is now mostly water. 

“What’s this?” He steps cautiously into the room, a flash of panic in his eyes. “Did you not get my message?”

“I did,” Ezra admits, surveying his wasted efforts glumly. “But I’d already made dinner to surprise you.”

Anthony groans, slinking the rest of the way to the dining table and dropping the bouquet beside the champagne. “Fuck, I’m sorry, angel.” He looks properly guilty, his expression somewhere between a kicked puppy and a child knowing they’ve done something wrong but hoping to escape punishment anyway. “The club was utter chaos all night. No matter how many times I tried I couldn’t seem to get away. And I had a meeting with-”

“Do you miss it?”

He hadn’t meant to ask, though the question has been tickling at the back of his throat like a cough for weeks. Ezra sits very still, staring at the carefully arranged cutlery at his place setting and hopes perhaps Anthony hadn’t heard him. But Anthony isn’t speaking anymore, his rushed explanations and apologies evaporating into the air as he stares at Ezra. He frowns. “Miss what?”

Ezra steels himself, knowing now that he’s asked he might just get an answer that will break his heart. “Being…unattached. Living alone.” He musters a weak smile but can’t quite manage to meet Anthony’s eyes. “Free to come and go as you like without anyone expecting anything of you.”

“Of course I don’t-” Anthony cuts himself off, and though Ezra still can’t bear to look directly at him, he sees him stuff his hands into his pockets the way he always does when he’s trying to appear less nervous than he is. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because sometimes I think you might.” Ezra blinks quickly, struggling against the sudden sting in his eyes. “And it terrifies me.”

“Angel - Ezra, that’s just not true.” Anthony moves closer, haltingly, as though afraid he might not be welcome. “At all. I love living with you.”

“Do you? Live with me, I mean.” Finally gathering the courage to look up, Ezra immediately wishes he hadn’t. Anthony is frozen in place, staring at him like Ezra is in the midst of confessing some bizarre, heinous misdeed rather than spilling his heart out over a cold dinner and melted candles. “I must admit, at times I still feel as though I live alone.”

Anthony flinches, his eyes wide. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to stifle you. I love how much you love your work. I love that you’re as committed to what you do as I am. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, Anthony.” Ezra ducks his head, pursing his lips for a moment before he can force the words from his mouth. “But I miss you. And if you don’t miss me than I think perhaps I’ve entirely misunderstood what we’re doing here.”

“No, you haven’t.” Anthony crouches in front of him, his eyes wide and pleading. “Of course I miss you. But I'm working on getting-”

"Were you working when you sent me a text that you couldn’t make it tonight while you were at the bar having a drink with Sable?”

Brow furrowed, Anthony asks, “What-”

“I called you.” Ezra breathes in slowly. “Sable answered.”

Anthony hisses, rising back to his feet and pacing away furiously. “That fucking prick.” He whirls, his hand tugging at his hair. “Angel, I came down to grab a bottle for my office and then I went right back up. Must’ve left my mobile on the bar. I swear-”

Ezra shakes his head. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Anthony.”

Dropping his hand from his rumpled hair, Anthony stands on the other side of the room and stares at him helplessly. “Then what the hell are you saying?”

“Only that I understand if you’ve changed your mind-”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Anthony snaps. “I asked you, remember? It was my bloody idea in the first place.”

Ezra holds up a placating hand, trying to ignore the way it trembles. He has to force the next words from his mouth. He loves Anthony enough to give him an out, if that’s what he’s looking for. “And if you’ve decided that it doesn’t suit you after all, I can leave.”

Anthony draws in a sharp breath and when Ezra risks a glance at him, he’s gone still and pale. “Leave?” He breathes out, eyes pained. “You’re talking about leaving now? Because I was late for dinner?”

“Anthony, I’m not-”

“You know what,” he interrupts, nostrils flaring. His whole lanky body goes taut like a bowstring. His jaw stiffens and his eyes narrow. Like a frightened animal, he snarls, “Why don’t we just say what this is really about then? You’re feeling insecure because my ex answered my phone tonight and you’re taking it out on me. And suddenly I’m not meeting your needs because I’m not home for dinner every night like Ward sodding Cleaver.”

Ezra frowns, wounded. “I didn’t-”

“And you’ve got the fucking audacity to sit here and tell me that I’m the problem? That you’re leaving because I clearly miss being on my own and fucking strangers?” Anthony scoffs and the sound is harsh and grating in the quiet of their flat. He shakes his head, his eyes bright enough to make Ezra ache. “If you want out, then that’s your choice. But don’t you dare try and tell me it’s my fault for not soothing insecurities I didn’t even know you had until five minutes ago. How the fuck am I meant to fix anything if you don’t tell me, Ezra?”

Ezra blinks back tears, reaching out a hand. “Anthony-”

Brushing past him, Anthony mutters, “I need some air.” He stalks quickly from the room and Ezra listens with his heart in his throat as the door slams shut behind him. 

-

In hindsight, Ezra really should have expected such a reaction. Anthony hates feeling vulnerable and having such an intense, emotional conversation sprung on him without warning had probably raised all his hackles. In the time they’ve been together, Ezra has learned how to deal with his prickly partner when it comes to having any sort of emotionally charged conversation. Namely, getting him to relax first. 

Wine and some good-natured bickering works beautifully most of the time. Kissing does wonders as well — the soft, languid sort that always makes Anthony weak-limbed and whimpering beneath Ezra’s touch. Pliant with good wine and drunk on Ezra’s soft mouth, Anthony is usually quite amenable to whatever Ezra might like to discuss. They’ve had so many conversations that way, with Anthony relaxed enough to open up to him about his childhood and his lonely teenage years, his previous lovers and his troubles in school. 

Cursing himself for ambushing Anthony the moment he arrived and Anthony himself for being so maddeningly skittish in the first place, Ezra stares at the bouquet of tulips abandoned on the table. He reaches out a trembling hand and strokes one soft yellow petal. “Well,” he tells them, voice cracking around the edges. “That certainly could have gone better.”

He cleans up while Anthony is gone, storing the food and champagne in the refrigerator, then putting the plates and cutlery back into the cupboards. He blows out the candles still flickering on the table and stashes them in a drawer. He adds water to a vase and places the tulips inside, arranging them with care until his eyes begin to sting. And when he can find nothing else to occupy himself with, Ezra makes himself a cup of tea and distracts himself with an old Bake Off episode. 

It’s after one in the morning before he hears the key in the lock. Anthony slips in the door, his steps slow and defeated. Even in the soft lamplight, it’s easy to see his eyes are red and hollow. He smells faintly of whiskey and cigarette smoke. He stops in his tracks when he spots Ezra sitting on the sofa, nursing his third cup of tea. He blinks, as though expecting Ezra to disappear. When he doesn’t, he rasps, “Thought you’d be gone by now.”

Carefully, Ezra sets aside his teacup. “Is that why you were gone so long? You were waiting for me to pack my things?” He looks away, a knot in his throat. “I can if you’d like.”

“No,” Anthony chokes out at once, staggering forward a step. His eyes have gone wide. “I don’t want you to go. I just… thought we were done.”

With a frown, Ezra scoots forward to settle on the very edge of the sofa cushion. More than anything he wants to reach out and draw Anthony into him, to soothe his jagged edges with his hands, but he can’t be sure Anthony is quite ready for that yet. “Darling, it was only a fight.”

Anthony ducks his head. “Yeah…” His throat bobs as he swallows. “It was a big one.”

Reminded with painful clarity that Anthony had grown up an orphan entirely too used to people leaving him, Ezra presses a hand over his heart to quell the sudden ache there. Anthony might be accustomed to being left behind and never mattering to anyone but Ezra is determined to never add himself to the long list of reasons Anthony has such a hard time putting his trust in people. He pats the sofa hopefully, indicating that Anthony should join him if he likes. 

Slowly, Anthony lopes over like a dog expecting to be kicked. Ezra curls his hands into fists, swallowing roughly. “Couples fight, my love. That doesn’t mean the relationship is over. It means there are issues to be addressed and compromises to be made. Why, if everyone simply gave up after every disagreement, no one would ever stay together.”

Anthony stares at him, seemingly hanging on his every word. “So…” He trails off, clearing his throat gruffly. “You’re not leaving?”

Ezra blinks back tears, shaking his head. “No, my dearest. I never said I was. Unless you’d prefer-”

“Never.” He surges forward and kisses him, desperate and biting. Ezra sinks into him, eyes fluttering shut as he returns the embrace just as hungrily. Anthony grips his shirt in white-knuckled fists, his breathing ragged against Ezra’s cheek. “Fuck, I love you. Don’t leave. Please-”

“Shh. Hush now.” Ezra takes his face in his hands, thumbs stroking soothingly. “Kiss me.”

They don’t bother stumbling their way through the dark to bed. Instead, they strip each other right there on the sofa with shaking hands and whispered words of assurance. Anthony presses him into the cushions like he needs Ezra spread out beneath him; like he needs to be sure he really isn’t going anywhere. He kisses Ezra like it might be their last, his clever mouth and long-fingered hands everywhere. His grip is tight enough to bruise and his voice catches in his throat as he moves over Ezra, whispering _mine_ over and over until Ezra echoes him.

_Yours_ , he promises. He sinks his fingers into Anthony’s fire-bright hair and wraps himself around his body like it might be enough to make him believe it. _Yours_. 

After, squished together on the sofa and still clinging to each other as their hearts begin to slow, Anthony breathes out a trembling sigh. “M’sorry. Not just for walking out like that but…making you feel like I didn’t want this. S’not true.”

Ezra rubs a soothing circle over his chest, mouth pressed into his freckled shoulder. “I know.”

“Work’s all I’ve had for - Christ, _years_. Decades, really.” Anthony fidgets and Ezra knows he must be itching for a cigarette. To his credit, he doesn’t lean over the sofa to fish through the pockets of his trousers on the floor. “Takes some getting used to. Having someone to come home to, I mean.”

“It must have been easier to compartmentalize when we lived apart,” Ezra concedes, pressing another tender kiss against his soft skin. “I understand that. I’m just saying that there is always going to be some sort of crisis for you to attend to and perhaps not all of them are of equal importance. If you’d prioritize-”

“You’re priority number one.” Anthony clenches his jaw, awkward but determined. “Always. Every time.”

Ezra hides a smile, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “Anthony-”

“I’ve been training someone,” he blurts, avoiding Ezra’s gaze. “Someone to be — ngk, well, me, really. When I’m not there.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, Ezra gapes at him. “Really?”

Anthony makes another strangled noise of agreement. “Mm. Club’s fully fledged now anyway. More than capable of standing on its own two feet without me babysitting it all the sodding time.” He huffs out a breath, running slender fingers over a loose thread in the sofa stitching. His eyes flick warily back and forth between Ezra and the cushion. “Figured it’s time to take a step back. S'what I was trying to say...before.”

Ezra shakes his head, unwilling to take the tantalizing offer before him. More time with Anthony would be a dream but he can’t accept it. Not if it comes at the cost of Anthony’s happiness. He loves that club like a child. “You don’t have to do that, darling. We’ll work something out.” He reaches out a hand to cup his cheek, softening when Anthony tilts his head instantly into his palm. “I can’t let you give up the club for me.”

Anthony frowns. “M’not giving it up, angel. I’ll still be in charge of everything. M’just loosening the reins a bit. Might work late a couple nights a week but the rest of the time I’ll pay someone else to do it.”

“But you love the Serpent-”

“Yeah,” Anthony admits, and his eyes are soft and resolute as he searches Ezra’s face. “But not more than you.”

Ezra blinks back tears. “Anthony-”

“You told me to prioritize. That’s what I’m doing.” He sighs, flopping back onto the cushions and scrubbing a hand over his cheek. “I mean, we’ve moved in together and I feel like I see less of you now than I did before. I miss you. Christ, Ezra, I want to be with you all the time. D’you have any idea what it’s like being stuck in that office at two in the morning, knowing you’re home in our bed and I could be there?”

Pursing his lips tightly together, Ezra nods. “Rather a bit like being the one alone in our bed and missing you beside me, I imagine.”

Anthony looks pained, reaching out a hand to lace their fingers together. It still thrills Ezra, the way such slender, calloused hands fit so perfectly with his broader, softer fingers. Opposite but equal. Made for each other in every way. “I’m tired of living together but feeling apart. I want us to cook dinner and argue about the washing up and have copious amounts of sex like a normal fucking couple.”

Bursting into watery giggles, Ezra buries his face in the crook of Anthony’s neck. “Me too, darling.”

Stroking clever fingers up and down the curve of Ezra’s spine, Anthony presses his lips into his hair. “Remember when I asked you to move in with me? I said I wanted to come home to you after long nights at the club but that was rubbish. The hell would I want to be there for when you’re here?”

“True,” Ezra agrees, lips curling into a smile. “I _am_ a delight.”

Anthony snorts. “A bastard of the highest order,” he murmurs fondly. He tugs at Ezra until he lifts his head, brushing their mouths together softly. “Was that it then? Our first big fight?”

Ezra noses at his cheek. “I suppose it was.”

“It was rubbish.”

“It rather was, wasn’t it?” Ezra hums thoughtfully. “Shall we agree to never do it again?”

“Please.” Anthony smirks, toying with a sweat damp curl by Ezra’s ear. “Now what?”

Ezra bites his lip and ventures, “Well, I did make all that lovely food. And it would be a shame to let it go to waste.” He widens his eyes, watching Anthony hopefully. 

As expected, Anthony barks out a short laugh and says, “Say no more, angel. We’ll eat first.”

“Oh good.” He beams, moving to sit up and search for his pants on the floor. “You know, I think arguing makes me peckish.”

“Everything makes you peckish,” Anthony grumbles fondly. 

Ezra turns around to argue that particular point and stops, mouth agape, to stare. On his feet and apparently uninterested in pulling on his own clothes, he stands there in Ezra’s crisp white button down and nothing else. It reaches only the tops of his thighs but hangs off his lanky frame, the sleeves falling over his wrists and the rumpled collar askew to expose his delicate collarbones. 

Snapping his mouth shut, Ezra struggles to contain the flush of his cheeks but doesn’t quite manage to stop staring. It doesn’t appear to escape Anthony’s notice, if the smug grin curling his mouth is any indication. Flustered, Ezra asks, “Shall we, uh, shall we fetch the champagne as well?”

“Course.” Anthony closes the gap between them, hand stroking up Ezra’s chest as he leans in and kisses him. Soft and slow and just a bit filthy. When they part, he smirks. “Makeup sex like that deserves celebrating.”

Ezra swats at him as he dances out of reach, his blush completely out of control as he blusters through a grin, “Cad.”

But he very pointedly doesn’t disagree.

-

“So I’m seconds from having the guy tossed out on his arse, yeah? And then he gets all indignant, claims it’d be bad press cause he’s a local celebrity. Never seen the prick before in my life but curiosity will be my downfall, mark my bloody words. I ask him what he’s famous for and he says he has a magic act in Manchester… and I can see the exact moment Ezra’s whole face lights up.” Anthony pauses to grimace but the thrill of the tale is still evident in his eyes, and in the gleeful laughter in his voice. “And I’m just thinking _oh fuck_.”

Anathema snorts, already under the impression she knows where the story is going. At her side across the table, her new boyfriend Newt gapes at Anthony with wide eyes. Ezra can’t blame him for being enraptured - no one tells a story quite like Anthony. He leans in as he speaks with rapid excitement, waving his hands around and nearly knocking over a wine glass or a candle depending on the hand. He clearly relishes the tale but then, he’s always delighted when Ezra manages to be even the tiniest bit rude.

Watching him fondly as he entertains their guests, Ezra busies himself with refilling glasses and making sure everyone has enough dessert. “Darling, don’t be hyperbolic,” he murmurs, when Anthony’s version of events grows a little too imaginative in the retelling. 

Anthony rolls his eyes good-naturedly, wine sloshing over the side of his glass as he waves a hand about. “Anyway, the guy’s red in the face by now. Probably wishing he’d done somewhere else for a drink — preferably free of a certain pretty, fussy stranger who, even I’m embarrassed to say, was better at his act than he is.”

“Honestly,” Ezra chides, blushing. 

Ever since Anthony had hired that lovely woman Tracy to manage the club in his absence, things have settled into exactly the sort of domestic bliss Ezra had always imagined when he thought of living with Anthony. Tracy runs everything so efficiently that Anthony usually only spends a few nights a week at the Serpent. Sometimes Ezra goes with him and sometimes he stays home. But he never feels alone anymore.

To his joy, he and Anthony have plenty of time together these days. They go out to dinner often and they’ve begun to take up hobbies together as well, taking cooking classes and dancing lessons to fill their weekends. They’ve been frequenting the theatre lately and last week, Anthony had convinced him to attend a concert with him for a band called The Strokes. Yesterday, they’d had a lovely picnic in St. James Park. 

Beside him, Anthony wraps up his story between bouts of laughter. Across the table, Anathema smothers a grin in the palm of her hand and Newt bites his lip, clearly struggling to contain himself. “And then, right there in front of bloody well everyone, Ezra pulls the coin out from behind the idiot’s ear and says, _‘That’s for your cab fare home_.’”

The table erupts into guffawing laughter. Anathema throws her head back, dark hair spilling over her shaking shoulders. Newt spills his wine over his sleeve but doesn’t appear to notice, his strangled laughter making him choke. Anathema slaps him on the back helpfully, still giggling. Anthony leans back in his seat, quite obviously pleased with himself. 

Cheeks pink with embarrassment, Ezra sighs, “Anthony, really.”

“What?” Anthony blinks at him innocently but the effect is ruined quite effectively by the mischievous smirk curling his wine-red mouth. “S’true, isn’t it? I swear I heard a rumor he quit the business and ran off to Denmark to live out his days in disgrace.”

Ezra stifles a laugh, nudging him. “Oh, stop it, you utter fiend.”

Anthony winks, his grin wide and unrepentant and more than a little proud. “He’ll never darken the Serpent’s doorway again, at least.” Absently, he pushes his untouched dessert toward Ezra and watches with interest as Ezra hums in delight and picks up a fork. “Should put you on the payroll, angel. You’re more effective than _Dagon_ at getting rid of people.”

As the table recovers from the delightful chaos of Anthony’s tale, attention quickly returns to the dessert. Anthony had been the one to make it, surprising Ezra with some of his favorite French sweets — delicate crystal cups filled with decadent chocolate mousse and individual servings of the flakiest crepes Ezra has ever tasted, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries. He sighs happily, sliding another delectable bite past his lips. 

Beside him, Anthony makes a strangled noise of interest. 

Anathema clears her throat, startling them both. “So,” she says, pausing to use her napkin to dab powdered sugar from the corner of Newt’s mouth. It’s rather charming, the way she dotes on the poor, clumsy thing. “How’s the whole living together thing going these days?”

“Dunno,” Anthony says, resting his chin in his palm. “What do you think, angel?”

Catching the little smile lurking in the corners of Anthony’s mouth, Ezra demurs, “Oh, we’re managing well enough, I think.”

“Oh, well enough, is it?” Anthony mocks, nose scrunched. 

Ezra smiles sweetly at him. 

Helping herself to a raspberry from Newt’s plate, Anathema presses curiously, “No regrets then?”

“Yeah, waited too long to ask.” Anthony sprawls back in his chair, eyebrow arched. “Should’ve done it the day we met.”

“Romantic,” Ezra accuses, blushing and pleased. 

“Nah.” Anthony drops his hand to rest on Ezra’s thigh beneath the table, squeezing playfully. “Just like having someone to do the washing up.”

Ezra laughs brightly and the sudden burst of utter joy that steals over him has nothing to do with creamy chocolate mousse or crepes with fresh berries. It’s about the merging of two wholly separate lives into one perfect existence. The blending together of everything he and Anthony are hadn’t been quite as seamless as he’d hoped it would be at the start and the reality of living together isn’t what he’d expected when he’d dreamed of sharing his life with someone else. As it turns out, daydreams could never hold a candle to reality. 

Reality is Anthony’s expensive hair gel beside Ezra’s shaving kit in the bathroom. Reality is Anthony’s organic produce next to Ezra’s pastries and imported tea. Reality is Anthony taking up all the hot water in the mornings and stealing the blankets at night. Reality is having ridiculous arguments about who lost the remote control again or whether yelling at plants helps them grow. Reality is having dinner parties with their friends and Anthony’s warm hand stroking his thigh under the table. Reality is waking up every morning to Anthony’s rumpled hair and sleepy smile, with absolutely no regrets at all. 

“The washing up,” he agrees, and Anthony kisses him. 


End file.
